


Connect the Dots

by Killmongerrrr



Series: The Strange Happenings in Asshole, Iowa [3]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Body Horror, CC’s full name is Casey Charles Tinsley, Fluff, Graphic Description of Corpses, Insects, M/M, Resurrection, Short, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 20:27:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18763618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killmongerrrr/pseuds/Killmongerrrr
Summary: ‘Ghosts aren’t real.’ You think, because they aren’t. This doesn’t explain the fact that you’ve somehow come back from the dead.





	Connect the Dots

**Author's Note:**

> Just another warning, there’s some insect-related body horror.

‘Ghosts aren’t real.’ You think, because they aren’t. This doesn’t explain the fact that you’ve somehow come back from the dead. ‘Ghosts aren’t real.’ You think. ‘What am I, then?” 

There’s no evidence of your ultimate demise. No Casey-shaped crater below the cliff that you fell from. You wonder if this is what the townspeople whispered about, why they’d stared at you so intently since your arrival. You wonder how many of them have had the same experience, the same realization that they are not suppose to be here.

A presence roots itself in your stomach, but ghosts aren’t real. 

They smile at you now, the townspeople. People you’ve never met know your name now and welcome you like you’re an anticipated guest. You want to say that something is off, that this is not how things are suppose to be, but it goes against everything you believe in. Instead, you justify it. The fall was nothing but a dream, a vivid picture that cracked your skull wide open.

‘Ghosts are not real.’ You think, but you are starting to think this is a different case completely. 

Something visits your room at night, something with insects for a face and leather gloves. You sit up and stare it in its eye, which dissipates into a swarm of static and flies. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you wake up with notes decorating every corner of your room. 

‘CONNECT THE DOTS,’ they all read. You tear them all down and continue to exist in denial. 

You meet a man with a dazzling smile and eyes haunted with spirits. His face looks like a swarm of insects upon first glance, but you blink and the man is back with that wide grin of his. Ricky Goldsworth tells you that death is not real, you tell him that he’s as dumb as they get.

A jogger finds a body in the park in the center of the town. A woman, naked, hangs from a tree. You recognize her as one of the waitresses who works at a seafood place Ricky had taken you to. 

She doesn’t come back, and relief floods your chest. You remember to tell Ricky that he’s an idiot when you next see him. 

The next week rears its head and Ricky takes you to a crowded bar away from the town’s more residential areas. This part of the town is more clustered, more like the city life you’d gotten use to while working as a private investigator in LA. Obnoxious music plays and Ricky kisses you clumsily, his teeth clacking against yours like this is his first time. You go home with him that night and he insists on driving, even though he’s drunk enough to fall over.

“Death isn’t real here.” He says between kisses, keys poised to unlock the car as his fingers wind through your hair. “Besides you’re not much better off.” 

You kiss him till he’s out of breath, panting and gasping your name. It’s 3am when you feel bugs crawling on your face. Not a fly or two, but a whole plethora of little bodies squirming and humming in your ears. You jerk back in alarm and Ricky sits up, hands tangled in white sheets as flies seemingly infest his face. He looks like the thing from that night, the thing you still chalk up to sleep paralysis and trauma. 

He smiles and you stare into the only eye untouched by swarming bodies. 

“Connect the dots.” He says, hands coming up to caress your face. 

‘Ghosts aren’t real,’ You think, and still you say, “I’ve connected them.” 

Flies buzz along his skin but you still make out the smile that spreads across his face like a carved out grin. 

“You haven’t connected shit,” he says.

Ricky kisses you till you both pass out. His mouth tastes like the day you died. 

That week is a good week. You and your partner catch the waitress’ killer red-handed, gun pressed against another young girl’s temple. He begs you to kill him, pleads even.

“I’ve been here since ‘72.” He says, but he doesn’t look a day over 30. “It won’t let me leave unless I continue to feed it.” 

He’s taken into custody and hauled off to the Penhurst Mental Institution. Lucy Goldsworth finds a body in her garden and Ricky tells you about disembodied whispers and death.

“Told you so,” You tease.

“Shut up, you were only half right.” He laughs.

Ricky takes you to Disneyland and you wonder how long it’s been since you’ve ventured outside of the town. The air smells different outside of it, it’s clearer. 

‘Ghosts aren’t real.’ You think, holding Ricky’s hand under the light of the Ferris wheel. ‘But this is.’

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure if I like this work. This is my first time writing like, actual sorta romance and I suck at it lol


End file.
